


Bend, Not Break: 2x07

by ProfessionalPorcupine



Series: The Red Pen Reconceptualizations [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anthology, F/M, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Smut, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, The Red Pen Reconceptualizations, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessionalPorcupine/pseuds/ProfessionalPorcupine
Summary: When Oliver answered his phone and heard the Count’s voice instead of Felicity’s, he stopped breathing. He only started again when his arrows pierced the Count's chest.What if Oliver had stayed with Felicity after her brush with the Count?This story explores what could have happened after Oliver left the Foundry in episode 2x07--with lots of feelings and smut!
Relationships: Oliver Queen & Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: The Red Pen Reconceptualizations [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015984
Comments: 18
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading 😊
> 
> Comments feed my muse!

>>>>>

**Queen Mansion**

Hours after launching a volley of arrows into the Count's chest, Oliver stared blankly at the ceiling above his bed. He couldn’t unsee images of twin syringes pressed against Felicity's throat.

The fear and rage he'd felt still gnawed at him. A stranger would have pleaded with the Arrow to kill the Count. But Felicity had begged Oliver not to. In that moment, she'd cared more about his conscience than her life. And he couldn’t--or wouldn't--explain why.

A low buzzing on his bedside table dragged him back to the present. He picked up his phone and found a new text message.

**Artemis Security, 12:58 A.M.**

**AUTOMATED ALERT: "Foundry" KEYPAD LOCK SUCCESSFULLY DISABLED.**

Cursing under his breath, he stood, pocketed his phone, and snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. 

>>>>>

When Oliver arrived at Verdant twenty minutes later, he found nothing amiss. But as he unlocked the sealed Foundry door and stole down the stairs, part of him still expected the Count to materialize from the shadows.

Instead, he was greeted by the reassuring clacking noise of a keyboard. He felt some of the tension seep out of his shoulders as he rounded the corner. 

"Felicity?"

She shot to her feet, tripping over the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked, righting herself and draping the blanket over the back of the chair.

"I got an Artemis alert," he replied, moving toward her.

Her brow furrowed. "Frak. I forgot to disable that."

Stifling a small smile, he asked, "What are you doing here?" 

He'd stopped a few feet away from Felicity, his eyes locking on one of the monitors behind her. A grainy scan of an official-looking document filled the screen. The text at the top read “Office of the Starling City Medical Examiner." 

Her brow creased. "I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd do some…" she trailed off, noticing the direction of his gaze.

"Light hacking?" he finished, finally understanding the words on the screen. 

She smiled wearily. "My favorite pastime."

Oliver moved closer, scanning the screen. Already knowing the answer, he asked, "Cecil Adams’s autopsy?" 

"I had to make sure the Count was really dead."

The waver in her voice was barely audible, but it gutted him. Instinctively, he laid his palm on her shoulder. Before he could find words to comfort her, she broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking up at him.

He arched a brow. After a moment, she amended, "I’m sorry that you had to kill him.”

"I meant what I said earlier," Oliver said, reflexively sliding his palm down her arm, eliciting a trail of goosebumps. Her reaction to his touch ignited a fire low in his belly--one that he resolutely ignored. "I won't ever let anyone hurt you.”

Her gaze was warm. "I know." 

He squeezed her hand and let go. "Let me take you home."

She shook her head. 

"I'm not leaving you here by yourself in the middle of the night." 

"I'm fine," she insisted, glancing at her phone. "I have to wake up in a few hours anyway."

"You're taking the day off."

“Absolutely not,” she shot back. 

Accepting defeat, Oliver sighed. “At least let me take you home so you can get a few hours of sleep.”

Her body stiffened and she fixed her eyes on her fingernails. "I don't want to go home, Oliver." 

Something in her voice froze his rebuttal in his throat. 

After a beat, her posture deflated, and she glanced up at him. "Being alone in my apartment--every sound had me jumping out of my skin. I know he's dead, but…" she trailed off, grasping for the words. 

Guilt clawed at his throat. She was so strong that he sometimes forgot she could be vulnerable. He shouldn't have left her alone earlier.

"I feel safest here," she finally said, lowering herself into her chair and crossing her legs.

He nodded slowly. After a moment, he walked over to his work table, sat down, and started sharpening an arrowhead.

He felt Felicity's eyes on his back.

"What are you doing?” she asked.

Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Sharpening arrowheads."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "It’s 1:30 in the morning."

“If you’re here, I’m staying.” He dropped his gaze back to the arrowhead in front of him. This was the least he could do. The Count had almost killed her. All because of him.

She huffed, but she swiveled back to her keyboard and started typing again.

They worked in silence for a half hour. Then, Felicity’s keystrokes gradually slowed. Eventually, they stopped altogether. 

Oliver laid the arrowhead down on the table before glancing over his shoulder.

He felt the corners of his mouth tick upward when he saw that Felicity was resting her head on her elbow. Her glasses were smushed against her face, and her slow, even breaths hinted at a deep sleep. 

He stood and moved toward her. “You are so stubborn,” he muttered.

Part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms and shield her. But the other part knew that she was safest when she was outside his orbit.

Pushing these thoughts down, he gently lifted her right hand off the mouse and reached for her glasses. 

His fingers wrapped around one of the temple pieces, and he wondered if he could pick her up without waking her. He could at least let her sleep on the couch in Thea's office for a few hours.

However, she shifted suddenly, and his fingers grazed her forehead. 

Her eyes shot open, and she sat up.

She looked around wildly for a second. When her gaze landed on Oliver, her relief was palpable. 

"Hey, it's just me," he said softly. 

She adjusted her glasses and straightened her ponytail. After a moment, she looked up at him, her expression equal parts defiant and sheepish. "I'm not going home."

"What if I stayed with you?" The words were out before he could weigh them.

Felicity's eyes widened, color rising in her cheeks.

"I can sleep on the couch," he added quickly. "If you want.” 

She gazed up at him for a moment, eyes searching his face. Finally, fighting a yawn, she nodded.

The gesture loosened the knot of anxiety in his chest. But as Felicity wrapped her coat around her shoulders, Oliver felt a foundational shift in their relationship. Spending the night at her apartment crossed about ten different lines--many of which he'd drawn. But, he realized with startling clarity, he valued her comfort more than his erratic moral compass.

>>>>>


	2. Chapter 2

>>>>>

**Felicity’s Apartment**

**2:45 A.M.**

Twenty minutes after falling into a deep, fitful sleep on Felicity's couch, Oliver woke with a jolt. Chest heaving, he scanned the room, expecting to find his nightmare come to life. 

But instead of seeing Felicity’s crumpled body on the floor, he found her kneeling next to the couch, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. 

“Are you okay?” he asked urgently, his voice rough.

“Are _you_? You were yelling in your sleep.” 

“I’m fine,” he lied.

Her eyes narrowed. 

Sighing, Oliver swiped his palm over the back of his head. "In my dream, I was too late, and…" he trailed off, suppressing a shudder. "He injected you with the Vertigo."

Still crouching beside him, Felicity took his hand in hers. "I'm okay."

He bristled. He’d wanted to make Felicity feel safe, but now _she_ was comforting _him_. "Letting him hurt you was never an option."

"I know that,” she said softly.

"Then why did you ask me to?"

She was silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she said, “My life wasn't worth you breaking your no-killing rule.”

Indignation clawed at his throat, and without thinking, he swung his feet to the floor and pulled Felicity onto the couch next to him. He turned toward her, taking her face in his hands. “You are worth everything,” he said quietly, running his thumb over her jawline reflexively.

Her eyes raked over his face. He didn’t miss the way she let her gaze linger on his lips before she made eye contact.

And then he was closing the space between them, breaking every boundary he'd built to keep her safe.

She shifted on the couch, turning to face him. When his lips brushed hers, an overwhelming sense of rightness unfurled and expanded in his chest. He rested his hand at the base of her neck and gently deepened the kiss, giving her plenty of time to pull back. But without hesitating, she parted her lips and slid her tongue against his, splaying her palms over the tops of his thighs. 

The pads of her fingers ghosted over bare skin, and Oliver remembered that he’d stripped off his jeans before passing out on the couch. He was suddenly very conscious of his rapidly hardening cock, which was straining against the black cotton of his boxer briefs. 

He traced his fingers down the center of Felicity’s back, pausing at her waist to graze the bare skin below the hemline of her tank top. She hummed in approval, prompting him to cup her ass in both hands and pull her closer.

Then, she was wrapping her legs around his waist and settling in his lap. He broke their kiss and dropped his lips to her neck, kissing a path to her collarbone. As he took one of her breasts in his hand and ran a thumb over her stiffened nipple, she arched her back, brushing her inner thigh against his erection.

He growled--a low, guttural sound--and Felicity responded by rocking forward so that the head of his cock was pushing against her center. Despite the thin cotton shorts she wore, Oliver felt the damp heat radiating from her core. He only had to push that barrier aside and free his cock, and he could plunge into her drenched--

Groaning, he pulled back far enough to look at Felicity, whose pupils were blown behind the lenses of her glasses. Her lips, swollen from kissing, were turned downward.

“I’m sorry. I thought...” she whispered, trying to extricate herself from his lap. But he locked his arms around her waist.

"Felicity, wait."

She paused and looked at him expectantly, confusion and embarrassment etched into her face.

After months of holding back, he was shocked at how easily the words tumbled out. "I love you."

She stared at him for a very long moment, uncharacteristically speechless. Then her mouth curved into a wide grin. “I love you.” 

Relief and gratitude swelled inside Oliver’s chest. But then he felt a stab of guilt. “I tried to keep you safe by pretending that I didn’t. And I almost lost you anyway."

“When I decided to join the team, I knew what I was getting into. I found you bleeding in my car, remember?”

“I still have the scar,” he said wryly. 

“I’m all in, Oliver,” she said, suddenly serious. “I want this--us.”

He nodded. Gesturing between them, he added, “If you want to take things slower, we can--” But before he could finish his sentence, Felicity was kissing him again.

“We’ve had months of taking it slow,” she said, sucking at his bottom lip. “Months of watching you on the salmon ladder.”

Oliver felt his cock jump, and he stood with a sense of urgency, lifting Felicity off the couch with him.

“Months of tight dresses and fuck-me heels,” he countered, squeezing her ass as he carried her to her bedroom.

She moaned into his mouth.

He laid her in the center of the bed, and she pulled him down on top of her. She dropped her fingers to the hem of his t-shirt and lifted, murmuring, “Months of seeing but not touching.”

Smirking, he tugged the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor, planting a knee next to each hip.

Felicity wasted no time outlining the ridges of his abs with her fingernails, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. 

Oliver palmed her right breast, rubbing his thumb over her taut nipple. “Months of **not** seeing _and_ not touching,” he growled, pushing the top of her tank top down to reveal her bare, pendant-shaped breasts.

“Fuck,” he hissed, dipping his head and taking a nipple in his mouth. He flicked his tongue against the stiff, peony-pink flesh, and Felicity moaned in a way that went right to his cock. 

He dropped his other hand between her legs and ran a single finger over her core, pausing over her clit.

“Oliver!”

Grinning, he tugged her shorts down, revealing mint-green underwear. He admired the damp spot between her legs before dragging the soft cotton down her thighs. With a wicked smile, he dropped his hand between her thighs, running his index finger from her drenched opening to her clit.

“You’re dripping wet,” he murmured, licking her arousal off his finger. 

She shivered and pulled him down for a kiss, anchoring her hands at his hips. Toying with the waistband of his boxer briefs, she whispered, “Off, please.”

Kissing her one more time, he rocked up on his knees and yanked his underwear off.

The fabric had barely hit the floor when Felicity sat up and wrapped her hand around his erection, spreading precum over the head of his cock. She started working her hand slowly up and down his length, and he briefly saw stars.

“Felicity, honey, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” he bit out.

Looking disappointed, she released his cock. 

He started kissing a trail down her torso, intent on burying his face between her thighs. But as he reached her navel, she laced her fingers through his hair, halting his progress.

“Later,” she hummed. “I need you inside me.”

Oliver’s cock twitched at the thought. “Condom?” he asked as he crawled back up her body.

She shook her head, looking embarrassed. “It’s been awhile, and I didn’t expect...this.”

He kissed her. “It’s okay. I’ll grab one from my bag.”

Before he could lift himself off the bed, she placed a hand on his arm. “I’m clean, and I have an IUD. We could…” she trailed off, looking hopeful.

Oliver’s mouth went dry. “I’m clean, too,” he managed to say, almost painfully hard at the thought of splitting her apart with his bare cock.

“Come here,” she whispered, pulling him down into a sweet kiss that quickly turned filthy.

“You’re sure?” he asked against her lips.

In response, Felicity reached down and guided his length to her slick entrance. 

He took himself in his hand and dragged the swollen head of his cock through her folds. 

Whimpering, she glared at him, and he relented, finally sliding into her. She was so tight, he could barely breathe.

“So good,” he murmured.

As he started to move inside of her, she snaked her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Arching her back, she tilted her hips up to meet him, crying out when he brushed his pelvic bone against her clit.

Seeking better access to the sensitive bundle of nerves, Oliver flipped them over, seating Felicity on top of him without missing a beat. Gripping Felicity's hips, he thrust up into her, slamming the head of his cock against her g-spot.

Felicity yelped and clenched around him, a sensation that sent electricity skittering up his spine.

He leaned up and sucked at one of her breasts, trapping her nipple between his teeth. “Can you come for me?” Oliver asked softly, releasing her nipple.

Dropping his right hand between her legs, he pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit. She dug her nails into his chest as he began tracing narrow circles around the swollen nub. With each pass of his thumb, she grew tighter, and he had to snap his hips harder to split her apart.

“I’m close,” she breathed.

“You’re squeezing me so hard,” he growled with an especially deep thrust. 

Then, without warning, she came unmoored, bearing down on him. As she clenched around his cock, she screamed his name. He gritted his teeth, trying to delay the orgasm shimmering at the edges of his vision.

“Please, Oliver. Please come,” she gasped.

Her breathless plea hurtled him over the edge. Cupping her breasts, he hissed her name and finally, blessedly, spilled himself deep inside of her. 

He could count on one hand the number of times he'd come this way, and he was stricken by the intense intimacy and primal satisfaction he felt from coating her inner walls with his release. The thought made his balls twitch again, and, noting the way Felicity had collapsed on his chest, he gradually slowed his thrusts and decreased the pressure on her clit.

They clung to each other, and Oliver absently ran his fingers through her hair, which he'd tugged loose from her ponytail. Eventually, as he started to soften inside of her, he lifted her up and laid her on the bed.

He brushed a kiss against the crown of her head and laid down next to her. "You're so beautiful," he whispered into her hair.

"So are you," she said drowsily, burying her face in his chest.

He chuckled, pulling the covers over them. 

She rolled to her side, nestling her back against his chest. "I'm sleepy," she murmured.

"Good," he replied, lifting her glasses off her face and placing them on her bedside table.

"Gonna take the day off tomorrow, 'kay?" she asked through a yawn.

"I think that can be arranged," he teased, making a mental note to text Isabel.

"Stay with me?" 

"Always," he whispered, wrapping her in his arms.

>>>>>


End file.
